I Ain't One For Dresses
by chocolatejet
Summary: AnaMaria is visited by Norrington on the eve of her trial. OneShot. Set shortly after DMC.


**I Ain't One For Dresses**

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_By_

_chocolatejet_

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Summary: Ana-Maria is visited by Norrington on the eve of her trial. One-shot. Set shortly after DMC.

Disclaimer: Both Ana and James are the property of Disney and Jerry Bruckheimer. I own nothink.

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"_All piracies, felonies and robberies committed in or upon the sea, or in any haven, river, creek, or place, where the admiral or admirals have power, authority, or jurisdiction, may be examined, inquired of, tried, heard and determined, and adjudged, according to the directions of this Act, in any place at sea, or upon the land, in any of his majesty's islands, plantations, colonies, dominions, forts, or factories, to be appointed for that purpose by the King's commission or commissions under the great seal of England, or the seal of the admiralty of England, directed to all or any of the admirals, viceadmirals, reer-admirals, judges of vice-admiralties, or commanders of any of his majesty's ships of war, and also to all or any such person or persons, officer or officers, by name, or for the time being, as his majesty shall think fit to appoint."_

_**Piracy Act, 1698.**_

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"C'mere precious. Promise I won't bite. Much." If the sorry individual occupying the adjoining cell had caught the flare of Ana-Maria's nostrils and the dangerous glint in her eyes instead of staring pointedly at her shirt-clad chest, he'd have swiftly removed his arm from where it protruded between the bars in a futile attempt at a lure. However, when the dark girl approached, steps deceptively cool, he reckoned he was in for a good time.

Never could a man's judgment prove so tremendously off…

Ana-Maria smiled grimly as bone cracked beneath her palms, his pained scream echoing off the cold, dank walls of Fort Charles' torch-lit bowels. She had managed, until several minutes prior, to drown out the scallywag's suggestive goading with her own frustrated mutterings as she'd prowled her cage in an effort to devise an escape plan. The window, however, was barred, and the wrought iron rails stubbornly immovable (as were the guards, and she'd never been particularly talented in the art of seduction).

The sun was near setting when she'd finally given up, and realised her neighbour had barely ceased his crude comments since she'd found herself flung into the dingy straw-strewn jail that morning.

"You'll be keepin' yer hands and yer teeth to yerself, savvy?" she hissed, releasing her hold on the struggling limb. Her demand was met by a whimper as the scoundrel hugged his broken arm to his chest.

"You! What's happened?" A guard had his nose to Ana's cell, rifle raised warily as his gaze shifted between her and the knave who had since retreated to a shadowed corner of his own cage, looking down pitifully at his twisted arm. The naval officer's approach had, apparently, gone unheard over the earlier wails.

"Taught the bastard a lesson, s'all," responded she, arms akimbo and characteristic scowl in place.

"Broke my sodding arm, she dun!" inserted her victim. Recovered from his initial shock, he regarded the olive-skinned wench with a venomous sneer. "I pity the bastard who takes up your services. Chops off bollocks for souvenirs this one does, I well reckon!"

"And who's to say I's inclined to men's company, eh?" she retorted, hoping he'd shut his trap at the implication of her words (all be the hint far from true). Thankfully, he did, ogling her firstly with slack-jawed surprise, then cautious disdain. There was a resounding clunk as their audience lowered his flintlock, and Ana did not miss the subtle roll of the young officer's eyes.

"You, Miss, will settle down," said he, tone rigid with warning. "Unless you'd prefer a head-full of lead." The gun's barrel clinked against a brass button as he set the weapon to his shoulder.

Ana was silent -- for the briefest instant, she wondered if, perhaps, a shot to the temple would prove an agreeable end. Lord only knew what fate would find her on the morrow. The hangman's noose was one possibility. Another… she cared not contemplate…

"Aye, aye, _sir_," she eventually responded, speech thick with sarcasm. With an internal sigh, she settled herself in the farthest corner, back to the damp stone wall and knees drawn up to her breast. Seemingly satisfied, the guard returned to his post at the jail's entrance, leaving its occupants to the harsh chill of a Caribbean night and direful imaginings of their impending doom.

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Ana had only dozed for a moment – or so she'd assumed – when a set of heavy footfalls penetrated her subconscious. Curious (and, if she were to be completely honest, hopeful of rescue), she cracked open an eye to view a silhouette halting beyond her cell's door. Despite the gloom, she could easily identify the visitor, and felt her stomach plummet. She'd recognise that bleedin' prim tricorne and proud, lithe figure anywhere.

"I've already told ye all I know," Ana murmured, grimacing as she stretched out her sore legs. "Ain't seen Sparrow since he got me the _Filly_."

"You think I've come to resume my inquisition?" His haughty voice rang out in the silence, subdued the rhythmic drip-drop of moisture colliding with cold rock.

"Then why _are_ ye here, _Admiral_," the last she spat, bitter still from his and Beckett's endless questioning the night before.

He paused, shuffled. Was the great James Norrington _uncomfortable_? Ana very nearly laughed aloud at the notion. At length, he spoke. "I have something for you." It was then she noticed the bundle in his hands, dimly illuminated by dying torchlight.

"This better be no trick, Norrington." In spite of her words, Ana's interest was undeniably piqued. Slowly, stiffly, she rose from her sitting place and approached the man, attempting to distinguish the mass all the while. "What is it?" she queried after a spell.

"A dress," said he, as though it were utterly obvious. She looked to his shadowed face, puzzled.

"I ain't one for dresses." There was an indignant edge to the comment, masking her bafflement.

Norrington sighed, plainly annoyed. "I'm trying to help you."

"Unless there's a file hid in the bodice, it ain't gon'ta be much help."

Again, he sighed, and Ana found her own irritation growing in turn. She got the distinct impression he was comparing her to a gormless nipper. Stupid and young she was most definitely not. "What's in yer head, Admiral? My patience's runnin' thin."

"You'll wear this tomorrow," he shoved the garment through the bars, and, as though of their own accord, her hands reached to grip the material. "I may not be overly fond of you Miss Maria – and I'm certain the feeling's mutual – but I can tell a liar from first glance…" Throughout the speech, his voice had softened. "You are not a liar."

At a loss, Anna caressed the frock. It wasn't expensive (cotton if she should take a guess), but it was by far the loveliest thing she'd ever been asked to wear, and could ever hope to afford. In the weak golden lighting, she could just about make out its greenish hue.

"You are a woman, Miss Maria. Flaunt it, and you _may_ escape the death penalty." Following that particular piece, Ana caught the brief dart of the man's tongue across his lower lip as he seemingly realised the bluntness of his comment. She ducked her head and smiled, glad for the dark. She'd heard worse. Far worse.

"I have a comb for you also." He fished said object from inside his dress coat, set it atop the gown she grasped. "And a basin will be sent to you shortly before the trial."

"Why are you doing this?" She was genuinely curious. What reason did this man have for saving her neck? She had dabbled in piracy -- steered the _Pearl_, even! It had been apparent that Beckett would have gladly gutted her in his own office had not a hearing been compulsory. And she had believed Norrington to harbour a like opinion. Yet now he stood, peering at her through rusty iron, and attempting (however indirectly) to rescue her!

"As I have already said, Miss Maria: I do not consider you a liar." Ana frowned up at him, wishing he'd again adopt his earlier bluntness. Her question was hardly answered -- but he stepped back, and she knew this was all the answer she'd likely get. "Now rest." It was uttered very much as an order, and those were the last words that escaped him. He ducked his head sharply in farewell, and was gone…

Ana blinked rapidly once his footsteps had dimmed, finding herself wondering if he had been there at all. The delicate scrape of cotton against her palms served to prove his presence, and she glanced down at the dress once more, fingered the fine-tooth comb. _You are a woman, Miss Maria. Flaunt it, and you _may _escape the death penalty_. Question was, did she truly wish to elude execution? Other than hanging, there was only one fate left she could think of…

…and she would _not_ be sold back into slavery.

Ana sighed, discarded the comb with a careless flick of the wrist and returned to her corner, bundling cotton beneath her head as she lay.

"Aye, Admiral," whispered she to the shadows. "Ta, but no ta."

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A/N: The Piracy Act has been included for one reason only: to show that pirates, or those convicted of associating themselves with pirates, were given a trial. I'd been wondering long and hard if these people would have actually had a hearing, so I found the evidence and stuck it at the beginning of my story. Not to say they'd have received a fair trial -- far from it, I'd say; but still, it wasn't just a case of 'jail to gallows'. And I highly doubt, in spite of Norrie's assistance, that Ana would have been saved simply for wearing a dress (I trust you all remember the opening scene of AWE?). But then, if Beckett was aware of this 'fate worse than death', then I wouldn't put it past him to overlook Ana's convictions and condemn her to a life of slavery. That man's one nasty piece of work.

If memory serves, I don't think Ana-Maria and Norrington ever met in CotBP, but heck – the fact that Hermione and Cedric never once acknowledged each other in the first four Harry Potter books hasn't deterred we faithful shippers (seriously, one of the best fricken' non-canon pairings out there)! But I've been wanting to get Ana and James in the same story for quite some time now, and have been pondering whether to write a multi-chapter Norria fic once I've finished 'Captain of the Brutish Crest'. Question is though, how many of you would want to read it?

Reviews and concrit are most welcome.

xchocolatejetx


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